


The Map

by Beleriandings



Series: Aredhel/Celegorm AU [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(AU) Aredhel and Maeglin have escaped Nan Elmoth and are living in Himlad. Now Maeglin must get to know his half-second cousin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Map

Maeglin sat in the window seat in the wide, rectangular bedroom he had been given, his mind wandering. The early-morning sunlight of clear spring day streamed throught the curtains and onto his upturned face. He trailed his fingers idly through the beam, stirring the dust motes in the still air, watching them dance in wonder.  _So much light_ , he thought. In Nan Elmoth, daylight had been a precious, scarce thing, a forbidden delight portioned out in tantalising glimmers through the canopy, when his father had thought he was sleeping. Sinful and enticing and almost painfully beautiful. Here it simply streamed in, through generous south-facing windows. He drank in the feeling of the warmth on his face, and even the sharp pain in his eyes as he stared greedily into the sun. He could not keep looking for long; that much he knew. And yet he doubted that the novelty of it would wear off as long as he lived.

Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door, startling him from his thoughts. He looked up, but before he could speak the door had opened, Celebrimbor was striding into the room, dressed in a heavy travelling cloak of dark green wool, old riding leathers, and strong boots.

“Maeglin. Here you are! I haven’t seen you in…” he thought for a moment, “…three days.”

Maeglin stared at him. “No” he said finally. “Sorry” he added, a little lamely. Maeglin liked his half-second cousin, and everyone here was kind to him, as a rule. But he could not help feeling somewhat out of place among these proud, verbose Noldor, with their quick, nimble fingers and light-filled eyes. Celebrimbor looked at him in consternation.

“Your mother was looking for you.”

“Then why didn’t she come to speak to me herself?” The words were out of Maeglin’s mouth before he could stop them, and he immediately felt a stab of guilt.

“Perhaps she was worried about how you would react” said Celebrimbor evenly. “I don’t know. But I’m not here to act as her messenger. No, I’m here to ask if you want to come on a trip with me. My father is of the opinion that you may as well learn the lay of the land, if you are to live here for any time at all.”

Maeglin said nothing.

“Come on, say yes. I’m going to collect mineral samples to test for metal ores, and I wanted to ask your opinion anyway.”

Maeglin smiled, surprised and somewhat flattered. “Alright.”

——-

They rode for much of the day, following the river Aros northward on its eastern bank that marked the border of Himlad. Maeglin, for his part, tried hard to avoid shooting furtive glances at the wooded bank opposite, but Celebrimbor seemed not to spare the border of Doriath a thought. They took their time, talking occasionally, but mostly content to travel in companionable silence, and for this Maeglin found himself grateful.

Soon they veered away from the river bank, and were passing over a wide open plane of grey-green moorland, dotted with rocky tors. Maeglin rapidly realised that he had no idea where they were, although Celebrimbor did not seem in the least disorientated, and spurred his horse onwards at a purposeful pace. Maeglin squinted ahead. It was a bright, clear day, and he could see the mountains to the North in the distance. Finally his curiosity overcame him.

“Where are we going then?”

Celebrimbor smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. We’re making for the pass of Aglon. My father said that he was told of a potentially extremely rich source of iron ore there, and he sent me to investigate.” Even Maeglin could hear the bloom of pride in Celebrimbor’s voice.

“I suppose he doesn’t have much time for travel” said Maeglin thoughtfully, for lack of anything better to fill the silence. “Where  _is_  the pass of Aglon?” he added, somewhat sheepishly.

Celebrimbor laughed, but it was not a harsh laugh. “Of course! I assume you never had much in the way of maps, growing up in Nan Elmoth.”

“My father disliked the idea of having too many of them around, particularly maps of Noldorin lands” admitted Maeglin. “My mother tried to sketch the lands for me from memory, and from what she had heard, but…” he tailed off.

Wordlessly, Celebrimbor drew his horse to a stop and dismounted, gesturing for Maeglin to do the same. He secured the horses and unbuckled a long, leather-bound tube bound to the outside of his pack. From this he drew a large roll of crisp, creamy paper, its edges snapping a little in the morning breeze as Celebrimbor unrolled it. Maeglin saw that it was a map, drawn in bold black strokes and labelled in red ink, in several different hands.

“You’ve travelled a little though?” asked Celebrimbor. Maeglin nodded, thinking back on the journeys he had made with his father. Suddenly he felt extremely uncultured and undereducated, and the world a lot larger than was strictly comfortable.

“Come. Sit here with me” said Celebrimbor when he did not respond, sitting down cross-legged on the grass and patting the ground beside him. They were on the top of a low ridge, and Maeglin could see for miles, even sitting down. Celebrimbor spread the map across both of their knees, and they held the edges between them as the wind lifted their hair. “eastern Beleriand lies before you” said Celebrimbor, making a mock bowing motion to Maeglin, “both on the page and in reality. We are  _here_ \- ” he pointed to their position on the map, “and this is Himlad, which you should know by now, I suppose.”

“I do” said Maeglin, glancing only briefly at the small, unlabelled patch of woodland that was Nan Elmoth. He looked to the western edge of the map, which also swarmed with miniature trees, and then back the way they had come, towards the wooded bank. “And this is Doriath? We followed the river?” He glanced back the way they had come.

“Indeed” replied Celebrimbor ruefully. “Diplomacy with Thingol is not at the stage at which Noldorin surveying expeditions are politically acceptable, and so mapping opportunities are sadly limited. But I’ll try to find you something more detailed that doesn’t cut off at the river when we return, if you’re interested. Maybe also a map of the lands of the High King, your grandfather, for that matter. That, at least, should be easy enough to find” he smiled, but not unkindly. “Although my father will probably tell you exactly what he thinks of the royal cartographers’ skill, in no uncertain terms.”

“Perhaps it is better to wait, in that case.”

Maeglin fell silent for a while, and Celebrimbor did not press him. He looked at the annotations, reading the names of the lords of the east, and trying to match them to sections of the hazy horizon. They loomed large in the stories that his mother had told him as a child, fearsome and recklessly charming and somewhat mysterious, as distant and unknowable as the forbidden tongue the stories had been told in. He supposed he would truly meet them all one day, and found the thought mildly intimidating.

“Those mountains in the distance…” began Maeglin, looking between the map and the pale blue line of hills that marched across the northern horizon, “that’s where we’re going?”

“Strictly speaking” said Celebrimbor, “the Pass marks the western border of the Marches. But yes.”

“The Marches…? The Marches of Maedhros? Your uncle Nelyafinwë?” Maeglin tried to remember, suddenly feeling self-conscious of his pronunciation.

“Ah, you learned their names in Quenya? But yes, of course, that’s just like Irissë” Celebrimbor smiled, almost to himself. “Trust her to raise you to break the rules. Yes, you’re exactly right. My uncle holds the frontier, and it is largely thanks to him we are free to make this journey without fear of orcs, or worse.” His eyes wandered for a moment. “He was always kind to me, even after… as I was growing up. We can even stop for the night at Himring, if we grow tired of camping. You can just make out the hill, look, there, on the horizon.”

Maeglin stared, shading his eyes against the glare. “I can see a hill, and a fortress. It’s made of… yellow stone?”

Celebrimbor looked surprised. “Sharp eyes indeed! You were named correctly!” He squinted. “Can you really see the keep of Himring from  _here_?”

“Not very well” admitted Maeglin. “What’s he like?” He burst out. “What are all of them like? Because for me…” he found the words coming to him unbidden, with a hint of alarm. “… they were legends. All of them, the sons of Fëanáro, the children of Arafinwë, even my own family, Nolofinwë’s, I mean the High King Fingolfin’s people.”

Celebrimbor thought for a moment before answering. “Well… I’m one of them too, I suppose, so perhaps I’m not the best person to ask. But I find… they  _are_  those legends, exactly. Living legends, every single one, and I even grew up amongst them.” He laughed bitterly. “Not the best, perhaps, for one’s sense of self-worth, but there you go.” He shrugged. “It’s all I’ve ever known.” Then he drew himself up a little higher. “But I am proud. Never think that I am not proud. I owe them that much, my family, my people, for better or for worse. If the defences should fail, and if I could somehow give my life to preserve all this… to free them from the Oath, and make things better again…” he tailed off, his eyes burning with a sudden, intense light.

Maeglin realised he was staring and looked away, unable to meet Celebrimbor’s eyes. Those slate-grey eyes which a moment before had been gentle and full of laughter, but now glowed with that strange fire that the eyes of the Noldor sometimes took on.

He suppressed a shiver. And then, as quickly as it had come, the fierceness was gone from Celebrimbor’s eyes, and he sighed.

“Those stories your mother told you” he asked hesitantly, half-smiling. “Was I ever… mentioned?”

“I knew  _of_ you” said Maeglin carefully. “But… I’ll admit that Tyelperinquar Curufinwion was little more than a name on a furtively scribbled family tree to me. Until very recently, of course.”

Celebrimbor smiled, rolling up the map. “Then I shall certainly have to act to change that.” He stood up. “Shall we go see some of the places on that map then?”

Maeglin got to his feet and stood beside him, staring at the horizon. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”


End file.
